Page 98 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes

As I approach, I see two figures huddled together on that huge armchair, wrapped in a blanket.

“Dusty?” I whisper, not daring to talk too loudly in the heavy stillness of the room.

“Tristan.” Her eyes widen in shock. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe for you.”

I take a moment to absorb her appearance. She’s mostly hidden under the blanket with her arms around Bruce, who looks as if he’s suffering from some long, debilitating illness. But Dusty herself, even though she’s still wearing her signature wig and flawless makeup, looks faded somehow, like a photograph that’s been left out in the bright sunlight and has been bleached.

“Neither should you.” I perch on the footstool in front of them. “This place is starting to affect you now, isn’t it?” I say in alarm.

She nods slowly, raising her eyes to me and begging me to understand. “I can’t leave him, Tris.”

“I know,” I reply quietly. I glance up at the huge, silent stone gateway, which is almost fully bathed in shadow now. Forcing back a wave of unease, I focus on Dusty. “I need to speak with Bruce.”

She looks down at the sleeping man in her arms and strokes his face. “Bruce,” she whispers. “Bruce, Tristan is here.”

Slowly, his eyes flicker, and when they open, it takes him a moment to focus on me.

“Tristan,” he says and tries to smile, but his face is filled with exhaustion.

“Bruce, I’m sorry. I know you’re tired and this is hard for you, but I need to ask you some questions about the gateway.”

“M’kay,” he mutters, clearly trying to force his eyes to stay open. “What do you want to know?”

I try to make it as quick and to the point as possible, knowing that in his current state he won’t be able to take in any long-winded explanations or hypotheses.

“Cordelia, the sister of Cornelius Crawshanks and the woman you are directly descended from, opened the original gateway by accident back in the eighteen hundreds. She opened it using magic. They managed to close it again and it was sealed for many years. But at some point, it was reopened, and I need to know how. I know you don’t have any memories from around the time you died, but do you know anything about the gateway? Was it already open when you found it?”

“Don’t know.” He sighs. “I wish I could help you, Tristan, but everything is so fuzzy. I can’t seem to… I can’t focus…”

I’m beginning to think it might be a combination of the gateway draining him and how he’s been trapped in some kind of limbo ever since his bones were recovered. If we could just figure out his unfinished business, maybe he might remember something.

I open my mouth to say something else when I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, and when I pull it out and glance at the screen, I see a message from Danny.

Tried calling a few times but for some reason your phone keeps going straight to voicemail. Sam and I are coming to find you, we’ve found Jack Miller…

I scan through the rest of his text and send him a quick response back saying I’ll meet him out front. Looking back at Dusty and Bruce, I wonder how much to tell him. Then I think fuck it, it might be raining aliens and zombies by tomorrow.

“What is it?” Dusty asks apprehensively, her eyes filled with worry.

I glance once more at Bruce, who is still watching me.

“Bruce?” I draw in a deep breath. “We’ve found Jack Miller.” Bruce’s eyes grow wide. “It’s him, isn’t it? He’s the man you were involved with?”

Bruce nods slowly. “He’s… he’s still alive, then?” he whispers.

“For now.”

“What does that mean?” he asks.

“Bruce.” I hesitate for a moment before giving in and telling him the truth. “He’s on palliative care at a hospice in Wimbledon,” I tell him gently. “He’s dying.”

Bruce pushes himself up from Dusty’s arms with a great deal of effort, the blanket falling from his shoulders, and when he looks at me, his heavily shadowed eyes fill with determination as he opens his mouth to speak.

“Take me to him.”

23

Sam drops us off at the hospice in Wimbledon but opts to stay in the car, knowing it’s going to be hard enough to get in to see a dying man when we’re not family. It’ll be even worse if there are too many of us. Which is how Danny and I come to be standing dripping wet in the main reception with a rather stern-looking receptionist staring at us suspiciously.